


Foolhardy

by itscheese



Series: just because you seen it don't mean it's there [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ?? - Freeform, And like, Blood, Bullying, Death, Gang AU, Guns, Lots of it, M/M, Snipers, Sort of..?, Swearing, i have so many more ideas for this but im too lazy save me, i hurt his knee a lot too, idk - Freeform, lots of, mattsun kills a dude, oiks uses steel tiger claws which is p cool, shit honestly idek what this is, what is this im not sure, what the hell idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itscheese/pseuds/itscheese
Summary: “Drop the gun.” Nothing happens.“Drop it or I blow pretty boy’s brains out.” Something clatters to the ground and the new person steps into the light. Tooru stops himself from gasping by biting so hard on his lip he tastes blood.“Let him go.” Hajime raises his hands in a placating gesture but the man just laughs.“No. I think I quite like him like this. Oikawa Tooru, leader of Aoba Jousai, under my foot.”





	Foolhardy

**Author's Note:**

> look mom i wrote a thing  
> maybe ill write another thing im not sure
> 
> have fun trying to understand wtf is going on lol
> 
> (the summary is v misleading u never hear the words aoba jousai any other time beware)

_“Ya think yer so special, huh?” There’s a kick to his ribs and another to his back, he curls around his chest and brings his arms up to his head. “Just because daddy left a piece’a shit like you all ‘is money when he died doesn’t mean ya get to kick us all around.” There are a few snickers, and someone must get in a good hit to the back of his head because he thinks he blacks out for a second and when he comes to, his head is on fire. “Should’a thought of that before trying to fuck with us you little bitch.” Someone grabs his legs and he tries to free them without leaving his head and chest unprotected, but he’s too late and there’s a metal (bat?) something hitting him hard enough to break bones and he sees stars. “Look at ‘im. Crying like the bitch he is.” He lets out a sob, why him, why him, why him? His tears mix with the blood on the cement, clumping on his bottom lip and spilling onto the dirt. He thinks he might’ve lost a tooth, but he can’t be bothered to worry about that when he might lose his life._

_He feels a foot press down on his head, then rise, and he prepares for pain, for darkness. (Please, please, please. I want to go home, I want to be safe.) He hears the man grunt with what must be the effort of ending his life, but. But the blow never comes._

_But the blow never comes?_

_“Hey!” He hears the sound of skin on skin and the clanging of the pipes as someone is thrown against them and he curls into an even smaller ball. He gasps at the pain in his right leg as he draws it up to his chest. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to move, it hurts to think. The sounds around him have dulled considerably, and he thinks it might be nice to just close his eyes and fall asl- There’s a hand on his shoulder and he flinches and whimpers._

_“Please, please don’t hurt me anymore. I didn’t know- I didn’t, I swear. I just-” He’s crying again. He really is a little bitch, isn’t he?_

_“Hey,” the hand is gentler this time, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I want to help.” There’s an arm under his neck and another under his knees and- “Ow!”_

_“Ah shit.” The person- man? boy?- almost drops him but adjusts his grip and stops placing pressure on his bad leg. Then he’s- up? Up in the air, being carried somewhere by the kind stranger._

_Maybe he’s delirious on pain, he shouldn’t be so trusting after what just happened._

_Three, four minutes at most and he’s gone again._

_When he wakes up, he’s lying on something soft. He keeps his eyes closed, right fist clenched around a bundle of sheets. They’re too rough, not his. He tries to open his eyes but can’t quite manage to look out of the left one, he can’t even open the right one, it’s covered by something. He lifts a hand to his head- his wrist is bandaged, and three fingers are taped together- and touches his forehead, it’s also bandaged. He sits up and pauses for a moment to catch his breath, his ribs still ache, most likely one is broken. He’s not wearing his own clothes, he would never wear something as old as this; a faded dark green hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. The right leg is rolled up above his knee, which is bandaged. He turns and sits at the edge of the bed in an unfamiliar room. He’s in a lot less pain than earlier, for which he’s grateful. Except he doesn’t yet know who to thank._

_He slowly stands up, being careful not to put any pressure on his right leg, and limps over to the door. It’s not closed entirely, so he gently places three other untaped fingers on it and shoves. It swings open smoothly. He limps past a shut door that he assumes is a bathroom maybe and continues on until he finds the living room and promptly freezes, hand over his mouth. There’s a man he doesn’t know passed out on the couch, tanned skin, broad shoulders, unkempt hair._

_His breathing has quickened, and he’s close to tears. He needs to get himself back together before he wakes up the man. His chest tightens as he slips past the couch, pressing up against the wall. He tiptoes to the dark wood of the front door and utters a curse when he sees its triple locked. Why? He glances around the sparsely decorated room and spots a gun on an old coffee table, just within the reach of the sleeping man. He utters another curse and makes his way to the gun, leaning over the unconscious form. He accidentally grazes the man’s chest with his elbow as he draws the pistol back to himself and stops moving- stops breathing. The man mumbles something and shifts, turning over to face the back of the sofa. He lets out a soft sigh of relief, grabbing the gun tighter and tucking it into the waistband of the sweatpants. He starts for the door and grasps the metal locks._

_He manages to get the first lock undone when the man wakes up._

_There’s a shallow inhale and a “Hey. Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”. The man stands up and makes his way over to him but he scrambles for the gun and points it at the stranger before he can get any closer. His eyes are wide and the man freezes, both hands raised in the air. The stranger slowly takes a step forward and he flicks the safety off the gun. Behind him, his two functioning fingers fumble with the two locks left._

_He manages to turn the handle and kicks the door open, all the while keeping the gun trained on the stranger. He’s quivering, and there are tears dampening the bandages over his eye. His breathing has turned shallow again and he shakily places a bare foot on the tile behind him, outside the door. The man makes no move to follow him as he continues backing away from the front door. When he’s standing in the hallway, he aims the gun at the wall behind the man and shoots. As the stranger’s distracted, he turns and sprints as fast as possible on one injured leg down the corridor, throwing a “Don’t follow me!” back at the open door._

They’re lying on the couch when the door slams open. 

“I knocked,” Yahaba bursts in, eyes wide, panicked. His chest rises and falls rapidly, a faint flush on his cheeks. He’s holding both his knives in one hand, the knuckles white from his grip. His gaze darts from Hajime to the window to him. Tooru doesn’t move, he scrutinizes him for a moment more and then turns back to stare at the ceiling. Hajime sighs.

“What is it?” Yahaba’s eyes snap to Hajime, he loosens his grip on the knives and tightens it again. His other hand plays with the hem of his shirt.

“We uh- Shin- Watari told me that Hanamaki got a call from the outer wall seven minutes ago. And uh- You see, I came as fast as I could, but it’s-”

“Spit it out.” Hajime’s impatient, that’s not good.

“There’s been a breach in the outer wall.”

“ _Shit._ ” Tooru sits up, Hajime’s hand falling from his hair to his shoulder. His fingers take to drawing circles on his sleeve. Now Hajime will be angry, that’s even worse.

“Who?” He asks, squeezing Tooru’s shoulder once and he’s rising, cracking his knuckles as he stands (and there goes his only good knee, along with his vision and six fingers).

Yahaba fidgets for a moment and then lowers his gaze, whispering so softly Tooru barely manages to catch the word, “Shiratorizawa.”

“Fucking- fuck. Tooru get up, we need to go. Now.” Hajime makes his way over to their room and Tooru lets out a breath, falling back onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

“You can leave, thanks Yahaba.” He lifts a hand and waves it in the direction of the boy, who bows quickly before leaving, shutting the door behind him. 

It’s only after he’s gone that Tooru turns to his side and curls up into a ball, his breathing coming faster and shallower. He can’t do this again, can’t go through this again. If only stupid fucking _Shiratorizawa_ stopped trying to kill either him or Hajime, people could stop dying on his account. (There’s so much blood, he can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe.)

“ _Tooru._ ”

Tooru shakes his head, covers his ears with the palms of his hands. He can’t do this. That _monster_ is going to come for him again and- And then suddenly he’s awake. The last tendrils of whatever it was that was going through him dissipate in Hajime’s wake. Tooru shifts to look at him and blinks rapidly, trying to clear his blurry vision. 

Hajime’s pressing harsh metal and cool glass to his fingers and he takes his glasses gratefully (his knee aches, there’s a storm brewing). He presses the bridge to his nose, then presses again, harder- hard enough to hurt.

“Tooru, please. We need to go.” Hajime’s anxious, that much is obvious. He does try to hide it, but it isn’t getting any harder to read him than it is to blow someone’s brains out. Tooru allows himself of few more seconds of unabashed staring before smiling and rising, wiping non-existent dust off of his thighs. 

“Let’s go then, Iwa-chan.” (Hajime sighs, as usual. But he doesn’t quite manage to turn fast enough to hide the curve of his lips.) Hajime hands him his weapon (weapons?) of choice ( _why? why are you going with the most unconventional form of defense- or offense!- or offense, possible? literally, you couldn’t be any stupider than thi-_ ). Tooru slips his fingers into the glove, blades pressing a steady weight into his palm. He opens and closes his hand a couple of times, feeling the two plates shift into a more comfortable position before putting on the other glove. Tooru lightly curls his hands into fists, concealing the blades inside, and smiles at Hajime.

They cross the room to an ornate bookshelf which Tooru has claimed for himself, stocking it with his favorite science fiction novels, or alternately, various copies of both entire Star Wars trilogies. There’s a fake book (very cliché, right iwa-chan?), which pulls out to reveal a number pad (okay, i’ll admit, less cliché) which then unlocks the hidden door. Behind it, there’s a staircase. Grey, cold, a little dusty (we should get a housekeeper iwa-chan!). They descend quickly, neglecting to use any source of light, continuing on in the darkness. The smell of mold and moisture tickles Tooru’s nose until he sneezes into his elbow, having learned the hard way not put his hands anywhere near his face when he’s wearing the gloves.

Their footsteps echo harshly in the small tunnel, Hajime’s boots kick up water as they go. They stop once, both pushing at a door that has gone so long without use, it’s jammed shut. The first glimpse of light they get is when they enter the control room.

It’s a large room, but the amount of people in it always makes it seem smaller. Tooru spots Kunimi in his seat, monitoring screens and flicking through images. When Kunimi spots his reflection, he nods, and Tooru throws up a peace sign (it was difficult the first few times, he almost sliced off his fingers on the third try, but he’s gotten a lot better now). Matsukawa is pulling out a map, pointing at different locations within their territory and conversing with Hanamaki. Yahaba enters through a side door with a large cut across his forehead, blood dripping down into his eyes. He wipes it away hurriedly, making his way over to him and Hajime. 

“Thirty-seven.”

“What?” Hajime raises an eyebrow, disapproving. Yahaba pales considerably and apologizes.

“There’s thirty-seven of them, sir.” 

“Shiratorizawa?”

“Yes.” Hajime sighs, running a hand through his face. He stares at Yahaba for a moment (who is trying his best to stop the flow of blood but really isn’t getting anywhere) before dismissing him.

_It had been three days._

_Three days of no sleep and incessant calling and trailing sketchy people and hiding from the cops and when he finally manages to shut his eyes, it’s involuntary. They had grabbed him by his collar and injected something into his neck, and since he was sleep deprived, he couldn’t find the strength to fight back. Just let his vision grow dark and their voices lull him to unconsciousness._

_When he wakes up, it’s to bright lights that hurt his eyes, a crick in his neck and an aching knee. His wrists and arms are sore from being tied to the back of the chair for what he assumes is at least more than 6 hours. (He’s grateful, he finally got some sleep.)_

_There’s a mirror taking up the entire wall in front of his chair, the surface spotless and shining (how much do you want to bet it’s a two-way mirror, iwa-chan?). There’s a door behind him, that he can see in the reflection, but he can’t get to it. Not bound to a chair that’s bolted to the ground anyway. But it’s blurry, everything is blurry._

_God damn it. He knew he should've worn contacts._

_He’s squinting at the door for what seems like hours, but really, can’t have been more than a few minutes, when it opens. It reveals an arm, that leads to a dress with a plunging neckline and- from what he can see- the woman is good looking. She’s slender with dark hair and glasses, her black dress brushing the ground as she enters the room. She glances around for a moment before slipping the door shut and making her way over to him, her heels clicking on the tile._

_The woman places a hand on his shoulder and slides it down his arm. There’s a finger on the inside of his wrist pressing down for a second but it’s gone almost as fast as it was there and the woman is smiling at him. He tenses. What is going on? She takes off the glasses and places them on for him, her hands running through his hair and then lacing together at the nape of his neck. He stares up at her, his vision finally clear, and opens his mouth to speak._

_“Where is he?”_

_She looks at him strangely before unclasping her hands and bringing them to hold his face. She stares into his eyes for a moment, then trails a finger from his jaw down his neck to his shirt collar, following the line to slip open the first button. Her manicured nails gently scrape at his collarbone and he flinches away from the movement. She bats her eyes and looks down at him, her other hand pulling up the hem of her dress and coming to rest on his shoulder._

_“Where is who?”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”_

_He narrows his eyes at her. He needs answers, not some weird lady talking to him and- and doing whatever it is she’s doing. Or if they’re going to kill him, he’d rather they get on with it._

_“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly who I’m talking about. You work for him.”_

_She tilts her head to the side and blinks slowly. Once, twice. Her head snaps to the mirror in front of him and she sighs, turning to face him again. He’s confused, very confused. What the hell is goin-_

_And then suddenly her lips are on his and he’s leaning as far back away from her as he can and spluttering indignantly as she wipes her lips with a faint look of disgust. (told you she wasn’t an emotionless robot iwa-chan. i neve-)_

_He grits his teeth and shakes his head, tugging at his bonds to no avail. He has no idea where this is going, but it definitely isn’t going anywhere near the way he planned._

_“Where. Is he?” He clenches his mouth shut after that and refuses to look at her, instead turning to the mirror (which he’s 102% sure is a two-way now)._

_The woman sighs again before drawing her hands away and walking to the door. She pauses with her hand on the handle and looks at him with- is that pity?- in her eyes before turning the handle and pulling the door open._

_A man with a shaved head (much uglier than watari-chan don’t worry) steps in and whispers something to the woman before drawing nearer to him. The woman gives him one last look before exiting the room, closing the door behind her._

_The man narrows his eyes at him and cracks his knuckles while rolling his shoulders. Then he punches him in the face._

_“What the fuck! Those were expensive!” But the man only shakes his hand before curling into a fist and punching him again. His glasses snap under the force of the second blow and clatter to the ground. His head snaps back too and he smiles. He can feel blood running down his face but he resolutely stares back up at the man._

_“You can do better than that, surely. They wouldn’t hire someone as weak as yo-” The man punches him again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_“Enough.” The man takes a step back and lowers his head at the newcomers. The one in the lead waves his hand at him and he leaves the room. He has close-cropped hair and looks tired (wha- i never look like that iwa-chan!). The second one is tall, with long hair pulled back in a bun (can i grow my hair out like that? definitely not.) and is clearly anxious. Fiddling with his hands and glancing nervously around the room. The third one could pass for a child. Excited, small (this one is practically a midget, iwa-chan.), with spiked up hair and a blonde strand running through it (also, he has terrible fashion sense. oh the horror. i know right?)._

_He lets out a bitter laugh, blood bubbling out of his mouth and down his chin, staining his shirt collar. He can’t see very clearly, not through involuntary tears and without his glasses, but the men are close enough that he can make out who they are._

_“You, Sawamura Daichi, are a hard man to find.”_

_Sawamura smiles, if a little strained, and runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his temples before dropping his hand to the gun at his side. “Not if you know where to look.”_

_He sighs, signalling to the others to untie him, “So, Oikawa Tooru, what can Karasuno do for you?”_

“We’re all insignificant in the grand scheme of things.” He turns to Tooru, a crazed look in his eyes and smiles. He points the gun at the man at his feet who whimpers, and shoots him in the head. The blast echoes throughout the warehouse, magnifying in the silence. 

“He was insignificant.” He kicks at the head of the man, covered in blood from the hole above his ear.

“You’re insignificant.” He waves the gun at the ceiling and laughs. Tooru tenses as his eyes turn to him again.

“Hell. Even I’m insignificant.” He aims the gun at his own temple. “Boom.” He laughs again and drops the weapon, but Tooru makes no move to retrieve it.

“But that’s the fun isn’t it,” He takes a step away from the body and spins in a circle on the tips of his toes, “You try _so_ hard to do something, to leave a mark, to be remembered. You kick and scratch and scream and bite and _kill_.”

He crouches down and dips two fingers into the pool of blood seeping into the leather of his shoes. It glistens in the fading light and he sticks one finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. The other, he points at Tooru while grabbing the gun again.

“We all want to be important, don’t we? We all want to be part of history, the big picture. Everyone wants to be _something_. How you go about achieving that is the meaning of life. Don’t you think?” He takes a step towards Tooru ( _don’t move don’t move don’t move_ ) the gun still aimed at the ground, but Tooru doesn’t flinch.

He takes another.

Another.

Another.

Until he’s standing right in front of Tooru. His breath smells of blood, his teeth are stained red when he smiles at him. He brings his empty hand up to Tooru’s face, and touches a finger to the space above his right eyebrow, drawing a wet line across his cheekbone to his chin. Tooru winces when he steps closer ( _don’t move don’t move you are_ unarmed) and licks the trail of red away.

He smiles again and Tooru closes his eyes. He needs to get out. Needs to go far away from this man. But he can’t do much with a gun pressed to his ribs.

The man steps back from him and spins on one foot to the growing puddle of blood on the floor before turning around and punching Tooru in the face. He stumbles from the force and falls to the ground, cradling his left cheek.

“I should just get rid of you right now, shouldn’t I? But that would ruin all the fun.”

He places a foot under Tooru’s chin and tilts his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s eyes slide to his left then back at him. “You’re friend still thinks I haven’t noticed him.” His voice is finally quiet, but the silence doesn’t last. When Tooru’s eyes widen and he turns to look at the wall that the man had signaled, he starts laughing. Loudly.

He nudges Tooru’s face lightly and then shoves him onto his back with a foot on Tooru’s chest. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The man pulls out the gun and points it at Tooru’s head. The safety clicks off. “Or pretty boy over here gets it.”

The silence continues for a moment before the man clicks his tongue and draws his arm back to shoot Tooru’s leg. Tooru’s cry of pain is muffled by the man’s hand as his eyes flit about the warehouse quickly. “He has three other limbs I can dispose of!” The gun pokes at his other leg and Tooru bites down hard on the man’s hand.

“Why you son of a-”

“Stop.”

The man cocks his head to the side when a new pair of footsteps join them.

“Drop the gun.” Nothing happens.

“Drop it or I blow pretty boy’s brains out.” Something clatters to the ground and the new person steps into the light. Tooru stops himself from gasping by biting so hard on his lip he tastes blood.

“Let him go.” Hajime raises his hands in a placating gesture but the man just laughs.

“No. I think I quite like him like this. Oikawa Tooru, leader of Aoba Jousai, under my foot.” Hajime sighs and raises an eyebrow at Tooru ( _are you okay?_ ). Tooru smiles weakly ( _i’ll be fine._ ) and cranes his neck to peek out at a building through a broken window.

The man is still monologuing, but it’s cut short when he spots a little red light on his own chest.

“Fu-” 

He never gets to finish the word. There’s a pull of a trigger somewhere (thanks, mattsun) and the man topples over, his blood joining the dead ( _innocent_ ) man’s from earlier. Tooru tries to stand but ends up on his back when he can’t quite manage to get his right leg to work properly.

“You think it’s my knee?” Hajime is kneeling over him, running his hands through his hair and down the sides of his chest, checking for injuries.

“I know it’s your knee.” Tooru lets out a laugh and allows Hajime to slip an arm under his to help him up.

“You think Shiratorizawa will leave us alone now that we’ve killed Jin-chan?”

Hajime’s face darkens. 

Tooru sighs, “Okay then. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> *unravel plays in the distance*
> 
> oloia pls explain u say  
> sry mate i cant bc u see, there is no explanation bc im not quite sure whats going on myself
> 
> there are gangs and maybe ill write smth else
> 
> this is for cay (and u too trin) as usual bc the only reason i post shit is bc it makes her happy


End file.
